


protect me from what i want

by bewareoftrips



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and some mention of fredsythe but not enough to tag it, lots of sad talk about fred... sorry about that, madrews, riverdaleholidaygiftexchange2019, takes place between 4x08 and 4x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/pseuds/bewareoftrips
Summary: Monroe seeks out Archie after 4x08orSad Times at theEl RoyalFred Andrews Community Center
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Munroe "Mad Dog" Moore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	protect me from what i want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everytuesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytuesday/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Dez! My first time writing Archie in two years and I only hope I did him and Monroe justice!

It’s drafty in the community center and Archie knows a simple turn of a knob would get the heat up, but he refrains. Instead he turns on a space heater he took from the garage of his house on Elm Street, a relic of his mom’s time at Sarah Florence some twenty-odd years ago. A few sparks come out of the outlet when he plugs it in but he doesn’t get electrocuted or start a fire, so he figures it’s safe enough. 

He eyes the thermostat on the wall again but he’s learned all too well these past few months how expensive heat is. How expensive everything is for that matter. It was one thing when there was a pile of kids here with no where else to go, half of them clearly just wanting a warm place to crash for a few hours, but it was something else entirely to waste heat when it was just him in this empty building.

He sends a goodnight text to his mom, who he knows is worried sick about him, and silences his phone before her parade of messages can keep him up. In another time and place he knows she’d be at his side, marching him into her sensible four door sedan with her hand firmly around his elbow, just daring him to pull out of her grasp. But ever since July, ever since the accident - 

No, not now. The wind howls outside and the space heater whines beside him but it’s still too quiet. With the quiet comes the bad thoughts, one after another and each worse than the one before it.

He has some vague memory of being ten or eleven and Jughead describing a similar feeling to him and Betty. The three of them alone in the treehouse. The Three Musketeers. Jughead on his back, blinking repeatedly as he recounted how thinking about his dad getting arrested led him to thinking of his parents fighting and then thinking of his mom crying and then of his sister crying and then his own shortcomings and then his F in math because he didn’t study and then - 

Betty had nodded along with empathy, her eyes nearly brimming with tears as well, but Archie had simply kept his mouth shut and followed Betty’s cues. He’d never experienced a thing like that. If he was sad about one thing, that was that. He didn’t get why his friends always seemed to make things more complicated.

Oh, how nice it would be to go back to those days.

Thinking of his mom immediately led to thoughts of his dad. Hell, today everything led to thoughts of his dad. And with his picture and name newly mounted on the wall of the community center, it was only a thousand or so times a day Fred Andrews raced through his mind. That led to thoughts of his own inadequacy. How he hadn’t been able to save his dad despite being hours away at the time and it being a freak accident. How he couldn’t even keep his lone surviving parent safe now. How he couldn’t keep these community center kids safe anymore. How one more run in with Dodger and -

He picked up the guitar on the ground and strummed loosely, trying to remember a tune buried somewhere in the back of his head. Something his dad had played for him. Not on the guitar, but from a battered cassette tape while riding in the cab of his truck on Saturday mornings going to little league practice. That comforting voice coming through the speakers meshing with the sound of his father singing along. He knows twenty seconds on his phone and he could find not only the name of the song but the sheet music as well, but it’s not the same. Not the same as digging into his own head and trying to remember.

“That’s new.”

The guitar almost falls out of Archie’s hand in surprise, but he saves it, flipping it around over his shoulder and holding it up like a bat.

A lesser person would laugh at the sight of Archie ready to use a guitar as a weapon, but Monroe Moore’s face is filled with regret and sorrow almost immediately. He holds his hands up to show he comes in peace, a set of keys dangling from one of them.

“I’m sorry, Archie,” he says, approaching him slowly. Archie puts the guitar down with shaking hands and tries to slow his thumping heart without Monroe seeing how shook he is. “Your mom called and told me you - you okay?” Archie opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He manages to shrug his shoulders in what he thinks is a casual way, but he just alarms Monroe more. “Sit down, okay? Let me get you some water.”

Archie involuntarily cringes as Monroe passes just too close to him, but he listens and slumps back down on his sleeping bag. He hears shuffling and Monroe reenters the room seconds later. He notes the way Archie tenses and stops in his tracks. He mimes tossing the bottle and Archie raises a hand, ready to catch. He grips it too tight and a slosh of water trickles down his hand as he twists it open. He stares at it for a second before braving a sip. He chokes down the lump in his throat with the first mouthful, barely stifling his cough. There are no tears on his cheeks, but he wipes his wet hand over his now hot face.

They stay like that for a few minutes - Archie collecting himself slowly as Monroe sits on the floor some ten feet away. When the bottle is empty he recaps it unnecessarily and makes a fuss of leaning over to a nearby table and placing it upright. He directs his attention embarringly to Monroe, knowing his cheeks probably match his hair.

“Sorry,” Archie gets out, his voice cracking, “you just surprised me. I thought maybe I didn’t -”

“Don’t be sorry, Arch.” Monroe scoots a foot closer, waiting for Archie’s reaction. He nods and Monroe crawls the rest of the way over, sitting back down as Archie makes space for him on the sleeping bag. “I tried texting but your mom said your phone might be off. She -”

“You talked to my mom?” It seems an unimportant detail but Archie can’t shake it. Monroe chuckles.

“Didn’t you know? Your mom and I are pals now.” He smiles at Archie’s confusion. “On Thanksgiving she told me to give her a call if I ever needed anything. We have a connection you know. Same initials.” Archie raises his eyebrows. “M.M. Her maiden name, Arch.”

“Oh, right.” Archie shakes his head. “Still weird.”

“She told me you ran off.” Monroe takes a chance and places a hand on Archie’s knee that’s pressed up against his own. “That this Dodger stuff had you worried for her. As if you’re safer alone in an empty build on the Southside than in your own home on -”

“It’s not safe there though, is it?” Archie snaps. “A drive by, Monroe. On Elm Street! I know that seems ridiculous, especially when I live right next door to the sheriff,” Monroe rolls his eyes but doesn’t interrupt, “but it happened!”

“That wasn’t your -”

“It was my fault though!” Archie huffs and moves his knee away. “That drive by was meant for me, meant for my mom. Hell, maybe even for my friends next door. Dodger directed that at me!”

“Archie!” Monroe’s voice is harsh but his touch on Archie’s arm is light. He holds in the wince but Monroe doesn’t let go this time. “You need to stop blaming yourself for this. And more importantly, you need to stop going after Dodger yourself.” Monroe cups one of Archie’s cheeks and cracks a smile. “They’re going to beat the pretty right out of you, Red.”

Archie lets out something between a sigh and a chuckle and his hand meets Monroe’s on his face. “That was stupid. I know that was stupid. But what else am I supposed to do? There’s only one person I can think that might help me,” Monroe grins, “but I can’t ask him without risking getting in trouble myself.”

Monroe’s face drops with his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Jones,” Archie says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Why? What did you -” This time Monroe doesn’t hold back and lets Archie see his over the top eye roll as he pulls away from him. Archie furrows his brow. “What?”

“The sheriff is going to help you what exactly?” Monroe scoffs. “He hasn’t exactly been jumping through hoops to help us.”

“He’s the law -”

“Yeah, Archie, and in case you don’t remember the law,” he makes quotation marks with his fingers, “is exactly what landed the two of us in juvie when we didn’t belong there. Sheriff Jackass -”

“Hey!” 

“- isn’t going to be able to get Dodger and his guys on so much as a parking ticket, or else he would have already.”

Archie pouts and leans back against the wall his sleeping bag is next to. He absentmindedly touches the guitar still next to him. “What do you suggest then? We go back after him?”

“No, that’s the last thing you need to do.” Monroe watches as Archie gently places the guitar in his lap, as careful with it as if it were a newborn. “You need to lay low. And when I say lay low I don’t mean scare your mom shitless and hide in an empty building by yourself.”

“Dodger -”

“Dodger will go away on his own if we just let this die down. We’re helping these kids, Archie, and we’re not going to stop doing that. But maybe you should hang at my place for a bit and let me handle the community center until things cool down.”

“If I do that -” 

“Then you’ll be safe. No one is going to find you playing video games with my little brother in my grandma’s apartment. Trust me.” 

Archie starts strumming his guitar again. “I know you don’t trust Mr. Jones, but he’s more than just a cop.”

Monroe gives him the full eye roll again. “Sure is. He’s the sheriff and once he finds out you’ve been prancing around trying to fight crime off the books -”

“Shhh!” Archie said unnecessarily, looking around the room.”That’s exactly why -” He sighs. “That’s why I don’t know if I can even go to him. I feel like I don’t have a damn person in the world I can trust anymore.”

“You can trust me. And trust me when I tell you not to go admitting to a cop you’ve been trying to take the law into your own hands.”

“Mr. Jones -” Archie shakes his head. “FP wouldn’t do more than - than chew me out over something like that.”

“What a guy,” Monroe says sarcastically.

“I mean, he gets it, you know?” Archie looks around again. “He’s from the Southside you know. Riverdale,” he shakes his head lightly, “where you can move on up from being in federal prison to being sheriff in hardly a year.”

His voice is flat and Monroe can’t tell if Archie is being sarcastic or sincere. “Yeah, or where you can become mayor a week after getting out of the private prison you just happen to own.” 

“FP isn’t Mr. Lodge,” Archie says slowly. Monroe clicks his teeth.

“You don’t really think a former gang member became sheriff overnight fair and square, do you?” He sighs. “Look, I know he’s Jughead’s dad and you two are pals but -”

“It’s more than that.” Archie’s voice is small. He turns his head towards the office where he can just see a glimpse of his father’s picture on the wall. “He’s like a second father to me. FP and my dad went way back, you know? They were - I don’t exactly know what they were. Maybe they were just best friends like they said but something always - I always got the feeling - like not in a bad way, maybe our moms even knew. I mean they definitely knew if there was - was something. I -” Archie looks embarrassed and Monroe inches closer to him on the floor. “They were like us. I think. Maybe.” He turns away from the picture. “He tried to tell me once, you know. Back when I was a freshman. And I think I got the idea and it kind of scared me because back then I wasn’t entirely - I didn’t know exactly what I was. I was confused. And I think my dad knew that and tried to talk to me and I got scared and never let him finish. And I always told myself one day I’d bring it up again and let my dad tell me whatever he wanted and now - now it’s too late.” Tears brim Archie’s eyes and Monroe pulls him against his chest in a hug, both arms linked around him. “And I know it’s dumb,” Archie’s muffled voice continues, “but FP is like a part of my dad that’s still here. Just as much as my mom is. And I know he’d do anything to protect me, even if he is the sheriff, and you don’t need to believe it but it’s - it’s true.”

Monroe nods along. “I get it, Arch, I get it.” And he doesn’t entirely. He doesn’t because the only FP Jones he knows is the one with the badge, not the one with the snake embroidered leather jacket. He’s only heard tales of that one and, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what good some middle aged gang member would be against some young thugs anyway. What good is any gang in a town he only cares about cleaning up? About making a safe place for his little brother and all the other kids stuck over here. Kids with no one and nowhere to go. Kids who need anything but more gangs and violence in their lives.

He rocks Archie gently and it’s only a minute or so before his breathing soothes and he’s somewhere between awake and asleep. He considers giving him a little shake, knowing it’d be easier to convince him to follow him back to his grandmother’s in his sleepy, cried out state. But at the same time, he feels how exhausted Archie is. Today wasn’t the first panic attack when someone took him by surprise. Wasn’t the first melt down. Wasn’t the first cry. And none of it would be the last.

Monroe gives it a few more minutes - waits until Archie is fully out - until he shifts both of their bodies longways on the sleeping bag and lays down, Archie’s head still on his chest. He pushes the guitar over a few feet and takes note that it’s not Archie’s at all. He doesn’t know much about music and knows even less about instruments, but this one is way older.

Fred Andrew’s picture smiles at them from across the room and he knows it was probably his. Archie once mentioned his dad and some friends had a garage band in high school with some dirty name - Fred’s Head maybe? - and the aged wood seems to fit in with that story perfectly.

Monroe smiles back at Fred’s picture, sorry he never really got to know the man. Sorry about a lot of the misfortune that plagued the life of the innocent boy curled up with him. 

He didn’t like the idea of Archie asking the sheriff for help, but he wouldn’t stop him. He was stubborn if he was anything and would probably do it anyway, with or without his blessing.

The phone in his pocket buzzes and Monroe pulls it out gentle, as to not disturb Archie. The screen lights up with Mrs. Andrews’ message and he holds in his grin.

_ our boy ok, monroe?  _

He texts her back, knowing she’d sleep better if she knew, and lets his eyes close. Their troubles were far from over, but they had other days to worry about them.


End file.
